


We met in a whirlwind of anger.

by CreamcheeseBagel



Series: We languish in the confines of our minds. [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angry Harry, Angst, Depressed Draco Malfoy, Enemies to Friends, Healer Draco Malfoy, Healer Harry Potter, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Minor Character Death, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Sad Draco Malfoy, Self Harm, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-16 04:42:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15429267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CreamcheeseBagel/pseuds/CreamcheeseBagel
Summary: Draco Malfoy has been hand selected to work within a specialist mental health team within St Mungo's; tasked with helping patients sleep.But Harry Potter has heard the news of their newest employee, and is determined to show the Slytherin that he is not welcome in the place of healing.Can be viewed as a semi-prologue to 'I'm so tired, Harry'. Can be read as a standalone.





	1. Chapter 1

Harry swept through the halls of St Mungo’s, nodding and smiling at colleagues who greeted him as they too rushed around, his light blue robes dishevelled and lightly stained as they swirled around him. He had charged from his ward, clipboard almost snapped, at the whisperings of a new attending doctor.  
Harry had worked at St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries for four years next month, apparating in only when he was too late to talk with the disgusting female dummy downstairs. He worked a children’s ward, plainly named ‘Bones, Groans and Minor Surgeries’; an expansive ward that aided magical children in regrowing broken bones, dealt with accompanying hypochondriac parents and he even occasionally glued a wound together. Harry had fallen head first into Auror training after the war, using it as a violent blanket to smother himself beneath, silently hoping his name would eventually see him hunted down on the field. But he had survived, and sought help, finally falling on his feet at St Mungo’s, a job that Hermione herself had steered him towards.

But that morning, Harry’s mind had darkened as he stalked the halls, dutifully smiling and shaking hands as he tore a path upwards towards the mental health wards, his hands curling into fists.  
Harry took the stairs, his legs burning at the stretch, a small part of his embedded anger management demanding that he breathe and count the steps he thundered up. It wasn’t working. He couldn’t sweat the anger out as he ripped open the door to the newly refurbished eighth floor.  

He strode into a large reception area, light blues and whites dazzling him, he drunk it in. The air smelt fresh and crisp, the seating spacious and comfortable, the area inviting. An iron wrought lift quietly appeared into existence and opened behind a set of precautionary sliding doors. Harry scanned the faces until he found one he recognised.  
Mrs Bradding exited the lift, her face flushed and welcoming. She spied Harry’s dark look from across the room and floated over, her smile now falsely worked.

‘Ah, Mr Potter. What do I owe this pleasure?’ she asked, her hands nervously working her greying hair into a tight ponytail.

Harry breathed deeply, uncurling his hands. ‘Is it true?’ he all but demanded, failing to sound nonchalant.

Mrs Bradding frowned slightly, standing straighter. ‘Is _what_ true, Mr Potter?' She snipped, her brown eyes sharp and daring.

‘Did you really hire _him_?’ Harry snapped back, ignoring the unwanted stares he was drawing. He nodded obediently as Mrs Bradding looped an arm through his left and tugged him along, her lips drawn thin.

She dragged Harry through an array of wildly decorated halls until she came to a stop outside her own office. The door was a gentle spring yellow, the room smartly decked out in oak. She swept into the room, her confidence growing. Harry hunched into a leather chair before the desk, arms crossed.

‘You know I respect you, Mr Potter,’ she began, collapsing into her chair and pushing a plastic cup across the desk. Harry watched it fill with chilled water and politely ignored it. ‘Don’t be too angry. And do not take me for an idiot,' she hissed uncharacteristically, her nails clicking against her own plastic cup. ‘I hire only those I deem worthy of the position. My interviews are not easy. This is not an easy role to fill’.

Harry huffed, his anger losing its edge. It was true; Mrs Bradding only hired the best of the best for her personal team of mental health healers, beneath her team were an even further multiplicity of talented women and men bending over backwards to help and heal. But Mrs Bradding’s own hand selected team now boasted five individuals, three woman and two men, from an array of backgrounds apparently.

‘He is here of his own merit, Mr Potter. You may be a hero, but on my ward you are but another employee. Do not forget that you too once struggled, but people were kind enough to pull you back,’ she continued, a brow raised as she took an exaggerated sip. ‘Would you turn a child away if you disagreed with the parent’s philosophies?’

‘Well, no..’ Harry admitted, squirming slightly in the seat, his cheeks tinged pink. ‘But, you must admit, Lisa, it is still a risk!’

Mrs Bradding blinked slowly, placing her cup on the desk slowly, and she smiled slowly. ‘Harry, dear,’ she began, lacing her fingers in her lap and leaning backwards to stare hard. ‘St Mungo’s employs individuals from all over the world, from all walks of life. If we turned everyone away for crimes of their pasts, well, quite frankly we may not even be able to run this show’. She breathed hard, her smile becoming genuine. ‘The people who _choose_ to work here do so because they want to make a difference. This is not an easy job. No one here has an easy role. We come into work to help people and we see a lot of ourselves in patients, and that’s tough. But we keep our heads held high and soldier on. No matter what we once were, when we walks through that window or through those doors, we become witches and wizards for the people’.

A small ball of shame uncurled within Harry’s chest and he swallowed the guilt loudly. He nodded, momentarily defeated. Every spoken word was too true and too raw. Harry himself worked beside a number people who he knew would not give him the time of day had they not been thrown together, hero or not. He stitched wounds with a flick of his wand as colleagues who would not speak of their past or families handed him gauze and patted his back for a job well done. His anger simmered and he gave a small smile to his colleague.

‘I’m sorry,’ Harry mumbled, scuffing his trainer against the desk. ‘I’m better than this,’ he laughed, motioning to himself. ‘I forgot how he could get under my skin…’

‘Now, before you get your arse off my floor, Mr Potter. Take a right past this hallway, first door on the left. Go and say hello. A many of your patients are often transported up here unfortunately. Don’t make your job any harder than it needs to be’.

Harry nodded, agreeing with the sentiment. He took a hearty swig from his chilled cup before skulking from the room, raising a silent hand in farewell. Mrs Bradding smiled smugly, smacking her lips as she finished her drink.

Harry followed the hallway as instructed into another one painted in incredibly light greys, until he stood outside the intended office; debating whether to kick the ajar door open or politely knock. His heart hammered in his chest and he threw caution to the wind. Harry slammed his foot into the door and stepped inside as the door slammed against the wall.

A muffled yelp greeted Harry and he tensed for a fight as a mass of platinum hair appeared behind the desk in the centre of the room. A thin figure climbed to his feet, almost luminous against the gaping hole of the fireplace behind.  
Draco blinked owlishly back at Harry, a hand dropping from his head to his side, his grey eyes wide.

‘Potter?’ he blurted out before collecting himself, folding his arms and narrowing his eyes. ‘Care to tell me why you couldn’t knock like a normal person?’

‘What the hell are you doing _here_?’ Harry steamrolled through, striding to slam him palms against the desk before standing back, mirroring Draco’s stance.

Draco sucked his teeth. ‘Are you blind?’ he scoffed, a slender finger tapping a lanyard around his neck. The badge read _Mr Draco Malfoy. Somnum Specialist._ ‘I’m not quite as boring as you. But, my job is to help people to sleep’.

‘Insomnia!’ Harry snorted, he could feel the anger rising. ‘That’s rich considering it’s your family that kept half these families awake at night!’.

Draco recoiled backwards as though slapped, his shock naked to the room. He gulped hard, a hand scratching against the brickwork of the fireplace, his jaw set.

‘It’s been years...’ he said, his grey eyes to the floor. ‘I want to help.’

Harry barked a laugh, glaring at Draco as he raised his head to meet the sound. He remained behind the desk.

‘To think someone like you could get a job here, where we help people..’ Harry continued, squashing Mrs Bradding’s words to the back of his mind, begging the anger to over-ride the guilt.

‘I know you’re angry, Potter,’ Draco tried, raising his hands pleadingly, reminding Harry of the coward the man had always been at Hogwarts. ‘But I am here. And I am helping people. So let me continue-‘

‘Don’t. Stop talking!’ Harry snapped and watched as Draco felt silent, his hands still raised. He took the man in then. He studied his former childhood enemy. The man was tall and slim, standing in a tailored shirt with the sleeves rolled high. Harry frowned at the audacity. Draco’s grey eyes were guarded, his face having shifted to a neutral expression. He stood so that even in his stance, his left arm was slightly pulled back as though he were ready to turn and flee in the fireplace. Or maybe he was hiding his Dark Mark, Harry reflected as he moved away from the desk, turning his back on the man.

‘If I even _think_ , Malfoy, that you’re up to no good. I swear you won’t get house arrest this time,’ he threatened, storming from the room without a backwards glance. As he slammed the door shut, Harry was sure he heard the unsteady exhale of breath.


	2. Chapter 2

‘I can’t believe I did that,’ Harry groaned into his hands, dragging them down his face. Twenty three years old and still just as bitter towards the Slytherin. Four years of tending to patients, and spatters of counselling, and his anger management had all but unravelled in one morning. ‘I just stormed in there, ‘mione!’

.

Hermione raised a brow over her coffee. ‘I’m not surprised,’ she replied coolly, crossing her legs and firing a withering look at her best friend. Harry’s eyebrows disappeared into his hair. ‘Don’t give me _that_ look, Harry. No I haven’t forgiven him. We haven’t even really spoken,' she lied carefully.' But how are people meant to change if we continually persecute them?’

.

Harry threw his hands up with a heavy huff. ‘How could they let him work with patients with mental health problems?’

.

‘Harry, we both know he was and is a skilled brewer. He’s clearly more than adept if he was handpicked from all the applicants,’ Hermione sighed, ‘if you really want to complain, you know I’m not the best person to agree with you.’

The pair sat in the thrum of the canteen upon the second floor; a grand room filled with tables and an odd array of chairs, with sofas having been previously dragged in for comfort and left, colourful garlands and lights hung from the ceiling bathing the room in awash of colours. High arched windows peeked outwards at the busy London streets below, magically hidden from wandering muggle eyes.

‘What do you want me to say?’ Hermione asked, her expression softening, she placed a warm hand atop Harry’s. ‘Harry, he can’t hurt anyone anymore. The Ministry have him on a tight leash. A monthly report gets written up, but that’s as much as I’m allowed to say’. She squeezed his hand and smiled gently.  
Hermione had rushed away from her desk job within the Ministry to floo to Harry as soon as his face had swum in her fireplace that afternoon, asking for her help. She had swiped the numerous scrolls into her desk and departed to St Mungo’s without a moment’s hesitation.

‘Have you spoken with Ron?’

.

Harry shook his head, ‘I thought you might be able to talk some sense into me first. Ron would probably agree with me…’

.

Hermione checked her watch, frowning slightly before squeezing Harry’s hand again and moving to stand. ‘I’m sorry, Harry. It’s almost five, and I must get back. I have to finish up my work before nine so Ron and I can go for dinner. You'll be okay, I promise’.

‘Thanks for coming. I appreciate it,’ Harry smiled genuinely, getting up to wrap his best friend in a tight hug. ‘Have a nice time, tell Ron I can see him at the weekend!’ he said, pecking her cheek.

‘Will do. Play nice!’ and with that Hermione spun on her heel and strode from the table and towards a wall of ornate fireplaces, stepping into a free hearth and vanishing in a blaze of green.

A familiar doctor ran into the canteen as Harry watched his friend disappear, the doctor suddenly snapped her attention to Harry, running towards him out of breathe.

‘H-Harry!’ Julia spluttered, ‘your patient is failing! The scales case. She’s crashing!’

Harry’s jaw dropped as he allowed Julia to pull him after her. They raced towards the ‘Bones, Groans and Minor Surgeries’ unit at the back of the second floor.  
The pair sped through the ward towards the curtained off corner their patient hid behind. Julia pulled the curtain aside and Harry stopped dead in his tracks, staring dumbfounded at Draco Malfoy attempting to administer a potion to the child, his brows furrowed in concentration.

‘She’s my patient!’ Harry snapped possessively, noting a small flinch run through Draco. Grey eyes peeked up through loose hair that had fallen from a ponytail.

‘I need you to hold her down. She’s panicking. If I don’t give her the sleeping draught she’ll hurt herself more,’ Draco pleaded, his tone clipped. ‘I was called down to help’. Julia obediently clamped her hands around the child’s small ankles.

The child was screaming now, the tendons straining in their throat as they thrashed wildly. Harry moved then and held the childs disfigured arms, leaning over their small rising chest as Draco lent over the pair of them. The child bucked and Draco hissed through his teeth, his fingers clumsily pulling the stopper from the orange potion he held.  
‘Hold her still!’ he demanded neutrally, pushing the potion to the child’s lip. ‘Still!’ he repeated when the child spat the luminous liquid onto his robes. The white robes melted away with a twitch of his lips and Draco stood in his usual attire, saved only for his office, consisting of a smart button down shirt with the sleeves rolled and fitted trousers.  
Harry watched the white arms tense as Draco gently worked the child’s mouth around the potion. He could see the scars littering the mans arms. Pale perfect lines dragged horizontally and vertically, an array of endless neat lines hiding the vibrant blue of his veins. Harry’s breath caught in his throat at the barely there Dark Mark hidden beneath a denser patch of scarring. They ran up and down the mark, close enough that Harry peeked gratefully at the unmarred skin of the wrists. He saw everything as Draco’s arms moved around his head, administering the potion multiple times over until the child’s hot breathe grew slow against Harry’s ear.

‘Potter, are you okay?’ Draco queried, glancing down at Harry as he wiped tendrils of hair from his flushed face. ‘She’s asleep now. You can seal the wound that opened..’ he said, stepping away. He flicked a wrist and his white robes flowed around his once again, he adjusted the sleeves and stared pointedly at a space above Harry’s head.

‘Oh, you handled that really well,’ Harry mumbled, the once terrified child now sleeping softly before him. Julia sidled up to the patient and prepped the child’s arm for Harry, she nudged him in the ribs, and he turned to cast the healing charms over the girl’s scaly arm. Julia whispered that the child had woken and panicked, seeing that the scales had migrated further up her arms while she slept and tried to pull them off in fear.

Draco turned silently, a sense of pride uncurling in his chest at the child breathing evenly. He had been demanded to the second floor to save the child from going into shock.

‘When she wakes, instruct her that she must collect her prescription before she leaves. Two spoonful’s before bed, anymore and she’ll be sick,’ Draco called over his shoulder, exiting Harry’s domain before anyone could ask him to elaborate. His potion had been painstakingly brewed that same morning, specially tailored for the child to aid her sleep, providing her healing arms with nutrients to reduce the creeping scales as she slept soundly.

 

* * *

 

Draco’s hands slipped over his desk and he stumbled into his desk chair, it skittered backwards knocking against the fireplace. He lent forwards onto his knees, shuddering, he could feel the roll of need overcoming him, the stress pushing down on his shoulders.  
Draco flicked his right hand and his wand slid into his palm. With a swoop of the wand, a streak of crimson erupted over his exposed forearm. Draco gasped and dropped the wand, his right arm numb, the slash weeping. He gritted his teeth against the pulsing as the familiar rush of calm overcame him. He sighed deeply, slouching backwards in his chair.  
Draco tapped his left hand against his leg and his wand jumped into his hand, he arched the wand once again and his left hand sprung open as an identical cut tore through his left forearm. He shuddered wordlessly.

He had saved that child from flat lining, that was true, but he had also fled upstairs to the eighth floor when done. He hadn’t hung back to advise the healers further or thank those around him for helping, Draco had wallowed in the feeling of sinking as he took the stairs two at a time until he was a sweaty mess, ignoring those around him as he stole into his office.  
Draco knew he should feel proud, that the feeling should have lingered, but he felt disgusting as he stared down at his self-inflicted wounds. Embarrassed that Harry’s green glare had unsettled him, punched the air from his lungs and made him feel filthy.

‘Fantastic first day, Draco,’ he spat to himself, squeezing his hands shut and wincing at the prickle of pain. He breathed out slowly and allowed his magic to wrap around his arms and form taut bandages, ignoring the red that pushed up against the linen. Draco had no urge to magically make the wounds disappear.

‘Accio wand,’ and his wand jumped into his left hand, he tapped it against his legs and white robes once again rolled down his body, hiding his injured arms. He trusted the bandages were thick enough to keep the blood stemmed.  
Draco slowly pulled himself from the chair, his feet light beneath him. His first real morning on shift had been filled with brewing draughts for listed patients, his afternoon absorbed by the frightened child. He felt tired beyond his body. Draco scrubbed a hand over his face, his arms buzzing beneath the skin.

A small rapping brought Draco’s attention to the door, and before he could reply Mrs Bradding’s face popped into the office. She smiled brightly.

‘I’ve just heard that a certain newbie saved one of Potter’s patients from flat-lining,’ she greeted, remaining in the doorway. ‘I am very proud. Good job. I _knew_ you’d throw yourself straight in’. Draco nodded mutely and Mrs Bradding closed the door behind her, her moment of praise doing nothing to penetrate the gloom clawing at Draco. He waited until her heels could no longer be heard clicking before making his move.  
Draco crept from his office; his fireplace was redundant for travel, blocked by the Ministry. He left the door unlocked, nervous that if he locked it someone would think he was purposely hiding something, and took the first lift down with his erratic thoughts buzzing. He kept to the back of the large lift, ignoring curious glances and frowns cast his way. _Do I look too much like Father?_

‘ _Reception. Floor One. Please turn right for-‘_

Draco ignored the bodiless voice of the lift and barged himself into the corridor, exhaling loudly as the wrought iron slammed shut. He raised his heavy head and flinched backwards at a brazen witch who turned from the reception desk and pointed directly at him, as though she had known Draco was coming.

‘You!’ the woman shrieked, her voice shrilly. She stomped from the reception desk, the male receptionist speaking hurriedly into his wrist. Draco’s stomach flipped as the woman stopped in front of him, patients spilling past the obstruction. ‘How dare you put anything in my daughter’s mouth!’

Draco blushed furiously, the words loud, easily misconstrued. ‘Pardon?’ Draco replied collecting himself, narrowing his eyes at her anger, a prickle of annoyance in his tone. He raised an eyebrow haughtily.

‘Did you poison her?’ she screeched, her hands clamping hard on his forearms, pulling Draco towards her. He could feel the woman shaking beneath the onslaught of pain. ‘D-did you hurt her?’

Draco’s heart plummeted at the words. ‘Pardon?’ he repeated numbly, his face going blank. ‘The child with the scaled arms?’ The woman nodded, her head nodding against his chest. ‘M’am I helped to ease her pain. She woke panicked, harmed her-‘

‘She’s dead...’ the woman exhaled and Draco allowed the woman to take them to their knees. She shook with her sobs. Draco opened and closed his mouth, confused. Had he not saved that child an hour or so ago? ‘Why did you take her from-from me?’.  
The receptionist unpeeled the distraught woman from Draco swiftly, her fingers dragging from his arms. She collapsed boneless against the male receptionist, leaning into his chest, her red rimmed eyes staring holes into Draco. He felt unmoored from reality, confused and out of the loop. Was he not just praised that same afternoon for helping the child?

‘I helped her,’ Draco assured himself, swaying to his feet. ‘I promise she wasn’t in pain when I saw her last’. The woman tore her gaze from Draco. He felt his feet take him from the scene, he walked in a daze, befuddled to his surroundings. He had to get away. _I shouldn’t be here. What am I doing here?_

‘Malfoy?’

Draco flicked his eyes to the call of his name, ignored it and walked robotically from St Mungo’s. Harry’s voice was lost to the sudden rain, it saturated his robes. He inhaled the scent of the rain, grounding himself and apparated with a pop.


	3. Chapter 3

Draco grunted as he rolled, his arms trapped beneath him. His wand clattered beside him. His grey eyes hardened, a muscle tensed in his jaw. The humiliation sat in his stomach humming as he clambered to his feet. Splaying his fingers, the wand wordlessly slammed into his palm. He threw his left arm outwards, firing beams of white. The man before him smirked, weaving in and out of the projectiles as he moved forwards.

_I need to get away_. Draco ducked left, his feet sliding away from the retaliation flash, the pavement cracked. Flicking his fringe from his eyes he dove sidelong, tumbling into a roll. The pavement parted like a smile, cracking open where he once stood. Draco’s heart hammered in his chest. The fight had come out of nowhere, a former Death Eater screaming into existence upon the quiet residential street of London. Draco had immediately cast a cloaking spell over the area, the signature pinging his location to the Ministry.

The fight was taking too much out of him. His shoulders ached heavily, a cut pulsed on his left cheek, the first wound of the day.

The figure continued forwards, the silver mask gleaming back at Draco. He had lasted twenty minutes so far, but he knew the man before him was also flagging. The attacks had become wilder, brutal and desperate. Draco was on the back foot, forced to defend and run but not allowed to escape. He resented the man more with each second that ticked by. He had royally missed his first monthly team meeting.

‘Crucio!’ the man screamed, his tattered robes billowing as the force of the spell blew him back a few feet. Draco scrambled forwards, his hands pawing at the ground as he kicked into a run. The first curse blew past his thigh. The second blew a lamppost sky ward. The third hit home. Draco convulsed as the bolt of green slapped his abdomen. He collapsed backwards, his back arching off the concrete, his eyes rolling. He had fallen into the abyss, the pain swaddling him, his screams tore through his throat like fingernails on flesh. There was a warmth coursing through his veins, a familiar sting someone had once demanded he conquer. Something pulsed in his mind, a gentle nudge, consistent.

The pain stopped. Draco heaved, his body folding in, his lungs collapsed into raggedy gasps. He staggered to his feet, his fingertips and toes numb. His grey eyes stormed.

‘Another-offence-’ he coughed, licking his cracked lips with an audible wince. ‘Keep-adding to-the list!'.

He couldn’t control his breathing as his body trembled. It had been years since he had endured _that_ curse, his schooling was rusty. Draco scowled, blocking two further attempts. The green beams were swatted sideways where they disintegrated with quick fizzles.

‘I don’t have time for this!’.

Draco started advancing, wordlessly slinging spells and hexes. His fingers itched to fire a goddamn curse. The figure before him was really flagging now. A hex snapped the man’s right knee cap backwards, the man screamed as one leg collapsed forwards and the other behind him. Draco was enjoying this now, his movements becoming cocky. A smirk tugged at his split lip.

A thump blossomed behind Draco’s eyes, the insistent pull forcing him to grit his teeth. With a snarl, his mind lurched and he collapsed to his knees. Within a heartbeat the air had grown sharp. A crack split the air and Ron Weasley burst into view, his four manned squad spilling out around him, his wand pointed at Draco.

The Gryffindor nodded stiffly before whirling on the downed suspect. Draco sighed, his shoulders dropping, the adrenaline draining away. He had momentarily dropped his guard when a flash of indescribable colour attacked his vision. The air popped as the spell streamed around his body, whooshing over him. He inhaled a shaky gasp and closed his eyes to the fire in his veins.

 

* * *

 

‘Idiot refused our help,’ Ron complained, glancing through the glass of the private hospital room. ‘He alerted us as soon as the guy attacked, but it could have been a lot worse...’

‘Did you catch the bastard?’ Harry asked, his eyes focused on Draco who sat sulking in his bed. The man had arrived slung over the shoulder of Ron, his eyes rolling into his head. The wounds had been superficial at best, minor cuts and grazes, testament to the wizard’s quick thinking and defensive skill. But it was the self-inflicted wounds and scars that had seen him shouted into a room within Mrs Bradding’s own wing of her mental health ward.

‘Yeah. Just another raving left over though,’ Ron scratched his chin, leaning in closer to whisper. ‘Did you hear, Hermione invited him to the celebration drinks?’

‘What?’ Harry replied loudly, his eyes swivelling to his friend. ‘Why would she do that?’

‘You tell me! Couldn’t talk any sense into her. Merlin help me if we ever have a child!’.

‘It’s my four year celebration drinks,’ Harry huffed, turning back to the glass. ‘And, he’s only been working here a month, technically that’s not long enough to be invited’.

‘All his lot are coming though,’ Ron reasoned, patting Harry’s arm as he moved away. ‘Mate, I hardly want him there either, but it’s not like he can murder us in front of all his work colleagues. Just go easy on him in there,’ he raised his hands fending off Harry’s dark scowl, ‘’Mione’s words not mine. She’s been updated on the situation and she’s not happy at all. Raving about equal rights and all that. Reckon she wants us to keep an eye on him, especially with…you know, his arms and that-’ he scratched his head, his ears glowing red. ‘Anyway, I’ve gotta go write up my report. I’ll see you at the weekend, first round on me!’.

Harry waved his friend away and stared at Draco’s exhausted form through the glass, his stomach squirming. He’d seen the scars on the man’s first day and didn’t tell anyone, and the shame had burned brighter when Mrs Bradding had swooped into the room, her _Muffliato_ barely holding.

 

* * *

 

 

A long month had crawled by for Draco, he reflected from the bed, the day’s heavy and hard. The emotional grind beat against his shoulders with each potion he brewed, with each patient who paled beneath him and sunk away from life. He often swung from a confident high, grateful and cool to nervous, apathetic, and unbelievably sad. He very rarely found a comfortable middle ground he could rest upon.

He stared thoughtfully at his cooling tea, a slither of him wishing that the bitter Death Eater had killed him that morning. Sometimes he found it surreal that here he sat, within a specialist team at St Mungo’s, brewing draughts and potions for strangers, helping ease their pain as his guilt grew with each success. A death on his watch, whether he directly administered the prescription or not, cemented the knowledge that he was a pathetic excuse of a healer, unworthy of the robes he hide behind. A healthy recovering patient was also a dual edged sword, running him through, staking his cold heart into the floor. How dare he have left it this long to help people? He felt like a fraud as he strode through the halls, ducking from Harry’s glances or calls.

Draco sunk deeper into the bed he was verbally bound to, his job threatened if he dare thought to leave. His small team had filed into the room hours after he had awoken, understandingly calm. It was Mrs Bradding who had flown into a rage, albeit one screamed with good intentions, pencilling Draco in for counselling and private chats, crying as she had hugged him hard and praised his time so far.

Draco pushed the latest assault to the back of his mind, his thoughts instead falling to a young patient he had spoken with on Harry’s ward, a delicate thing whose anxiety would tear her from her sleep and leave her picking at her knuckles and fingers.

_‘I get bullied..a lot,’ the young Muggleborn sniffed, rubbing her scarred knuckles into her face, smearing the salty tears further across her flushed face. She smiled wobbly at Draco, ‘It just makes me sad,’ she admitted, a small self-conscious laugh escaping her. ‘I wish they wouldn’t tease me. When they call me names…it hurts here,’ she whispered, a tiny finger prodding her chest._

_Draco sat upon the edge of the bed, his legs crossed. His fingers gently traced his own chest, he found that it hurt too, a tiny pulse behind his ribcage. A feeling deeper than the scar tissue marring the skin._

_‘I think you’re very brave, Amelia,’ he announced, allowing a small smile to grace his face as the girl beamed back at him, her tiny hands fisted into the blankets. This vulnerable child was an amalgamation of every child he had bullied, harassed, shoved and hexed. In that moment, Draco felt the tug of regret wrap around his heart. If a heart could truly be broken, it collapsed into pointed crumble upon that bed as Amelia adjusted her glasses and hiccupped away the tears.  
‘I also know that you’re very cheeky!’ Draco replied flippantly, throwing a hand to his face dramatically, tilting his face away as though reciting a great Shakespearian drama. He peeked sideways and Amelia giggled loud, her childish snorts rolling through the ward. _

_‘I’m not cheeky!’ Amelia hiccupped, the last of her tears drying._

_Draco removed himself from the bed, chucking a chocolate frog into Amelia’s smothered lap as he lowered his hand._

_‘Where did you get that from?’ Amelia gasped_

_‘Magic!’ he replied, turning away. ‘Don’t eat that all at once. If I hear that you end up back here with a bad stomach, I will not be impressed,’ Draco warned, his tone warm. ‘And remember, you’re better than those…bullies. Keep your chin up’._

Amelia had haunted Draco ever since. Her innocent blue eyes wide at his jokes, scrunched up as she giggled into her blankets and kicked her legs. At her age he had been bitter to those he viewed as beneath him, jealous and cruel. She was everything he should have been when she laughed effortlessly, radiating an open minded forgiveness. But the first time he had seen her, Amelia had curled into herself, unconfident, her eyes downcast and ringed with sleep deprivation. A bright eyed, bushy haired Hermione had swum into his vision, peering back at him from lashes heavy with tears.

A heavy tap of knocks brought Draco from his thoughts and he inwardly groaned as Harry Potter sheepishly made his way into the room, lowering a hand he had probably gone to wave.

‘I, I thought we should talk,’ Harry started, his heart beating as hard as Draco’s own. ‘I was there when Ron brought you in-‘

Draco waved the sentiment away with a heavy bandaged arm. His tea accidentally vanishing with the motion, a sign his emotions were running too raw.

‘It shouldn’t be that way, Malfoy-’

‘There we have it, though, Potter,’ Draco replied icily. ‘That name. _Malfoy._ I made my bed alongside my family and now I get to lay in the piss soaked sheets. So can we make this quick?’

‘I’m trying to say I’m sorry, you git!’ snapped Harry, ramming his fists into his robes pockets. Draco met the man’s frown.

‘Then say it, you incompetent idiot!’ he hissed, his grey eyes darkening at the green eyes glowing before him. ‘So we can just both go on as usual-‘

‘I’m sorry, okay, for how I’ve been this last month. Uh, did you hurt yourself because of how I’ve been?’

Draco recoiled backwards into the bed, his lip curling. ‘Excuse me, are you delusional? Harm myself? Who in the world do you think I am, Potter?’

Harry huffed loudly, raising a brow and nodding towards Draco’s bandaged arms. ‘Look, we both know I’ve been keeping an eye on you’. Draco crossed his arms and scowled harder, biting his tongue. ‘And I believe you, okay? You actually seem to care-‘ Draco tutted then, the click sharp against the roof of his mouth. ‘Hear me out. I know we’ve got a lot to talk about, but I was wrong to not give you a chance when you started here. Don’t get me wrong, you’re still a stuck up-‘

‘Potter,’ Draco warned.

‘Okay, yes, we have our differences. We don’t like each other. But, you’re a colleague and a good healer. So, I’m trying to say sorry. Sorry that idiots still attack you. And that I’ll try and be civil. And no matter what we did as kids- I don’t like the idea of you hurting yourself…because of me…’

Draco inhaled sharply, a lie poised on his tongue, he swallowed the half-truth and shook his head. ‘Potter, I don’t want your pity. This is my penance,’ he swallowed the lump in his throat, his hands shaking. ‘I did this to myself. All of this. This has nothing to do with you. Honestly, I hate who I am- who I was. Who I grew up to be, but I’m trying my best to be a better version of myself everyday’. Draco panted hard, the sweat running down his jawline, the skin of his right arm puffy and raised beneath the linen, a slash or two encrusted with green outlines.

‘I feel so angry, Potter. I spent years believing I was above everything, and everyone. I brought this on myself and I’ve come to terms with that’.

‘But that looks painful, Malfoy’.

Draco laughed drily at the words. The burning in his arms was but a drop in the turbulent waves of his mind.

‘I knew you saw my scars,’ he sighed, a small smirk. ‘You always did watch me like a hawk’. He smiled thinly as Harry blushed furiously, his eyes focused on the end of the bed, his fists bunched. ‘I see myself in patients a lot. I see myself in the bitter old men who can’t keep their fucking mouths shut. I have to face myself in the snot nosed kids crying, and demanding attention’.

Harry opened his mouth to reply but Draco held up a finger. ‘Please, Potter. For once, stop trying to play the hero. I’ve said too much already. We’ll vow to be civil and that’s that. Deal?’

Harry crossed the space to the bed, extending a clammy hand to Draco, waving it before his confused expression.

‘I promise to try and be civil,’ Harry announced, taking Draco’s left hand awkwardly in his own. ‘I want to be a better person as well, and that starts with forgiveness. We’re not there yet...but we can at least try work towards it’. Draco curled his fingers around the tanned hand, his heart hammering. ‘I know how much it hurts to not want to be you. But it gets easier, and I’d like to help you with that. You’d probably think I’m an idiot for saying this, but it does get better, M-Draco’

Draco sniffed hard, the unexpected tears hot against his cheeks. He hadn’t expected to yearn for Harry’s friendship so late on in his life, but his words were like a beacon of hope snaring him in the spotlight. He floundered in the butterflies and allowed Harry to sweep him into a quick hug.

‘This is so surreal,’ Harry breathed into his ear, ‘but it just felt right, you know?’.

‘I’ll allow it,’ Draco choked, his voice failing him.

‘If I stop hugging you, do you think you could turn up to my celebration drinks?’. Draco stiffened. ‘Hermione won’t take no for an answer’.

‘S-sure,’ Draco stumbled, the warmth in his chest batting away his confusion and fear. ‘After all, she helped me secure this job. I kind of owe her a drink for that’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed this semi-prologue. Harry finally decided to try and play nice, but I must admit it was fun to write him being so wicked! I have a soft spot for Draco working towards redeeming himself and growing as a character.
> 
> Keep your eyes peeled for Established Drarry one-shots in the future!


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